


Sleeping With Ghosts

by mrchibs



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-10 20:17:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrchibs/pseuds/mrchibs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearly a year's wake after the events of Endgame, a once-lieutenant wanders through life he's long since ceased living. Until fickle fate and a familiar stranger show him that no change is more sweet, or more bitter, than the regression back into the past. Lieumon, AU, M in due time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> an: well, i won't lie to you all. i'm nervous as hell about posting this. i haven't posted fanfiction in over two years, so this is a bit of a big step for me to take. i also have the terrible habit of not making much of an effort to read other people's fanfiction? but i'm really, really excited about this series, this ship, this everything. so who knows! i hope i'm not stepping on anyone's toes with this.
> 
> i won't do many authors notes before chapters if i can help it, but my nervousness leaves me anxious to make some clarifications before i let you begin. yes, i went with the pretty predictable 'liu' name for our favorite lieutenant. i want to press that this is not his given name, though i never plan on giving him a given name, so. it's an alias, and i'm sorry to be predictable. i will immediately clarify that this fic will live up to the descriptions, but i just need you to be patient. like i said, this is my first fic in a very, very long time. so be kind, and thank you for reading!

Loneliness wasn't even a term he understood anymore. How long had it been? Months, he knew that much. If he had to wager a guess, it had been just under a year since this cycle of self-alienation had started.

He was close in his assumption. It had been ten months since the Lieutenant had left the ranks of his once-brothers, ten months since he had addicted himself to the misery of loneliness. Not since the traitor had shown his true self had the once-lieutenant allowed himself proper company. He ate meals alone, spent his spare time alone, and made no effort to associate with his coworkers off of the work floor. It was not necessarily due to want of separation. He had once been a sociable man, content to waste hours away in company. But now...

It was a self-enforced pain; a masochistic punishment that no one but he believed to be deserved. It had him wake early in the morning and wander to the factory floor. It left him silent, only speaking when it was necessary to give or take direction. It left him tired from the effort of speaking. It kept him awake at night. It had him eat only what was necessary.

This evening, it had him returning wordlessly from his first meal of the day. The Lieutenant, whose lost name had been replaced with the shaky alias of 'Liu', pushed open the door. He followed the same tired plan of every day before, the same tired plan for these many months past. Enter, remove his boots, wash his face, read, sleep.

The plan did not continue this night, though.

A figure stood in the room, washing his face in the basin atop Liu's dresser.

Liu's pale eyes shot open to their widest, his breath caught hard in his throat. His first instinct, which he was barely able to overcome, would have been to attack. But his ability to act on that instinct had gone numb when the rest of him had. He followed the second instinct, his stress-hoarse voice calling out as sharp as it could.

"What are you doing in here?" The invader turned to respond, his tan face catching the flickering gaslight. Liu froze.

He looked like something between a memory and a ghost, though Liu could not decide which.

The resemblance was dreadful. It left his roughened throat dry and pained, breath barely escaping from him, a feeling akin to being choked. For that first couple of moments, he regretted with all of his heart that he hadn't moved to attack him. But as he began to breathe again, his mind caught up with his panic. The memory was dead. He knew that, everyone did. Even given the nature of the memory and his dishonesty, the fact that he had died was indisputable.

This was, in fact, a ghost. Granted, a ghost who resembled the dreadful memory to an uncanny degree, but there were, now that he had calmed himself, enough differences to nullify the illusion of identicality. The least of which were simple, changeable things. His hair was shorter and a different color, lighter than the memory's had been. His skin, tanner. Little things. But there were deal breakers, if only two. But they were irrefutable things.

Most notably, he was taller than this man. The memory had always been just a hair taller than Liu, and he would hear no argument. Though not much shorter than he, this straight-backed man hovered an inch or so below his own height. There was no way to falsify that. More hauntingly different, however, were the scars this man's face bore. Yes, he had been fooled last time. The memory had hoodwinked him with paint and powder playing the part of mauled flesh, but these awful marks were not only more obviously carved into his flesh, but their upwards protuberant edges were ashen and laced with the bluish forks of the veins below.

No, certainly, this was a ghost, not a memory. Merely an awfully close mirror of the hated, beloved memory. He did take a half-second to consider that maybe this ghost did not resemble the memory quite as much as he was seeing. It was very possible, as it had been with any crowd he'd seen before, that he was adding the deplored features of a dead memory onto stranger's faces.

Liu had become so lost in the comparison that he had not heard the ghost's response. He blinked hard and gave a hard clear of his throat, "I'm sorry- I didn't catch..."

The ghost's thick brows perched, the left-hand one lagging behind just a bit due to the scar tissue pulling the skin on that side tight. His voice, Liu quickly came to find, was also different than that of his deceased memory.

"I was assigned to this room… unless I'm in the wrong one?" His voice was graveled, but there was humanity to it that the memory had never shown, even in the most personal moments that Liu could recall. It gave him breath; every difference slowed his pulse and eased his head.

"No, no. You're in the right place, if they wanted you in this building. I have the only spare bunk." He could still feel a shake in his throat, but he was sure the cause had transitioned from fright to simple disuse of his vocal chords. His pale eyes swept the small room to take in any and all details that had changed with the arrival of this ghost, and, aside from the ghost himself, only two things had changed. The topmost bunk of the bed had been fitted with blankets, where it had sat bare and off-white just this morning, and, on the bottom rightmost post, a dusty brown bag had been hung, presumably, carrying the ghost's belongings.

"Well, then. That would be what I'm doing in here." His brows were still perched high, albeit uneven from the scarring on the left one. His tone, while not hostile, held a taken-aback venom in it. Liu's lips tightened and his head dipped in a short bow.

"I apologize. I'm not used to-"

"Company, yes, I've heard. There's no need to apologize, just try to refrain from assaulting me next time." Despite the dry statement, the ghost smiled roguishly. He had a chipped tooth, right under where the scars lay on his closed lips, and Liu's eyes couldn't help but glance before his mind corrected him. Staring was rude, as he'd been told too many times before.

"I'll do my best. Err, you've found your bunk, I see. Did they inform you on the curfews and rules?" His eyes fixed, instead, on the shoulder of the ghost's coat in a thorough attempt to not make a further idiot of himself. The ghost nodded, something he only caught to vague movement of from his perspective, but it was easy enough body language to figure out, especially for someone so trained in it.

"They have. Naturally. What I'm still in the dark about, though, is your name." Liu's eyes weren't on the ghost's lips, but he could feel his smile stretch further. So much from saving himself from further embarrassment. He parted his lips quickly, moustache giving a tough twitch from his growing discomposure. The ghost cut in, again, however, leaving Liu halfway without a breath and not a single word in his grasp, "Mine is Anisok, for future reference."

Liu's lips pursed together, and he came to the awful realization that his head had bowed down, once more, apologetic to this stranger for his cataclysmically awful lack of any sort of social self control. He snapped it upwards, immediately regretting not making it a subtle movement, and responded carefully, lest he stammer or whatever else would make it all worse, "I am Liu. It's... nice to meet you."

The ghost named Anisok gave a little chuckle and turned to approach the bunks, a noticeable limp in his step. Every time Liu resigned himself to stop staring, a new thing to look at would pop up. His nostrils flared in a muted sigh, thankful, at the least, that Anisok was at least turned away from him, now. As the other man approached the bed, however, and his limp demonstrated itself across the room, Liu's humiliated mind caught up with the situation. He stepped forward, rising a hand up, and piped, "Er, I don't have a ladder. If you wait just a second I can go get-"

Again, Anisok cut him off. He had grabbed the wooden siding of the top bunk and stepped on that of the bottom, "I'll be fine, Liu. I have a word of advice, however," he pulled himself up with unwounded agility, flipping over his own arms and rolling onto his back, and finally continued, "And it's to not worry yourself so much. It's unhealthy."

Liu swallowed and gave a disjointed nod. He resisted every temptation to apologize, but reminded himself that he had no need to, nor any responsibility to. He approached his own bunk, pausing by the light switch, "May I?"

"Mmhmm." Anisok, who had removed his boots and coat to sit in his dirty bag, rolled away from Liu and fell silent. Liu abused the moment to observe the back of the ghost's head. Yes, maybe, he was still unnerved by the resemblance. Maybe he was checking the facts he had read in every paper and heard on every street. Assuring himself that the memory was dead and gone, and this similar face absolutely could not be the same man. The Lieutenant had always been more familiar with the back of his once-commander's head, so in that second he observed it very carefully. The ear was so mauled that he couldn't compare its shape, but it was certainly tanner. And the hair… Certainly, it was a different shade. And inches shorter, and the angle now shoed him that some of it was completely gone where the scars were too deep to have been penetrated by hair. No, it wasn't, and couldn't be Amon. Who was dead. And gone. And he would know.

Nonetheless, as Liu flipped off the light and readied himself to sleep, he couldn't swallow the hard and inarguable desire that this twin of a ghost had never come to haunt him.


	2. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An awful dream leads Liu to struggle with the similarities between his memory and this phantom. It's complicated, however, by a demonstration of Anisok's humanity, something his memory had never truly had.

"Come in." He called, voice muffled by the heavy wooden door separating them. The lieutenant nodded absently and turned the brass knob. He slipped booted feet silently into the large, dark room and immediately gave a low bow of his head, though the superior he bowed it to currently stood faced away from him. After the formal procedure, the lieutenant approached the table Amon was leaning over. He spared only a moment to glance over the scatter blueprints, open folders, and half-finished notes littered over the table's worn surface.

"The detail is in place for tomorrow." He began immediately, pale, goggle-obscured eyes wandering as he spoke. They trailed over the outline of the hoodless Amon, half of a silhouette in the dim gaslight, and fixed where they always did. That small corner of jaw, just below the ear, that the mask did not quite cover. He skimmed the reddened tips of scars, just visible from this angle. No matter how many times he had come to see Amon hoodless, it remained a sight he was consistently flattered by. Amon's willingness to reveal even this much to the lieutenant was a simple gesture, yet one so complex and trusting that no other being could claim to have been given. Even if the mask still remained, which it always did, there was always pride to be found in it.

And the lieutenant was a very prideful man. So, even though he'd seen it a dozen, or two dozen times, his eyes still felt the itch to wander. Constant as the mask, though, came the same lecturing sigh, "Staring is impolite, lieutenant."

He swallowed and nodded, words completing the cycle of every time passed, "My apologies, sir." He took his last few steps to the tableside, where his covered eyes finally took to gazing over the plans and prints over the surface of the table. He picked up swiftly where he had left off, noting the number of personnel, the expected attendance rate, and dozens of other little details not much different or less bland than those of the last event, or the one before that.

So used to Amon's aloofness and contemplative silence, the lieutenant did not recognize the silent listening of his superior for what it was. Inattentive, distracted, and pensive in a different manner than actually listening would merit. It wouldn't be for months that the lieutenant would understand why Amon had absently scraped his fingernails against the wooden surface of the tabletop, why he did not even glance his lieutenant's way as he spoke.

It hadn't been until the next day that the lieutenant had understood Amon to be a traitor.

That evening, he only grew aware of the peculiar behavior when Amon interrupted him, uncharacteristically mumbling a question the lieutenant almost did not hear, "Remind me, lieutenant. How deep does your loyalty to me run?"

The officer blinked, his words fell apart and his whole demeanor skittered off its track of pride and vocal confidence. He mentally stumbled over the question and began to grow increasingly bothered by it, his growing befuddlement clashing hard against his desperation to give a quick answer. A quick answer, as with an attack, showed ability to adjust, one of the many traits he always desired to exhibit to Amon, to be for Amon. Yet here he stood, silent and floundering to even understand the question.

Amon has asked it before, several times. Or, rather, he had asked a deceptively similar question. 'How far would you go for the cause?', 'To what ends would you go for equality?' This phrasing differed, because it used a personal word. To Amon, 'you' was not a personal word. There was nothing personal in Amon's world, except one word as elusive as his maskless face. This statement contained that rare, human word, and that turned an easy response into a trap box.

Amon has never made him a stranger to sadistic little games made of hard questions and the exposures of true mentalities. And the lieutenant was subsequently very well versed in the etiquette of such games. Which is why he was so shaken by the question, by the use of that word. It was blunt and invasive, and against the rules Amon had always been fair enough to play by. The phrasing, the word, the tone. It was all too obvious. And all loaded with the unspoken certainty of what the answer must be loaded with.

He swallowed hard against the knot that his throat had tied itself into. It had already been an awful, quiet moment, and Amon's head had turned a degree his way, which the lieutenant knew to signify a silent growth in impatience. For the life of him, he didn't want to answer. He would rather stand in this unbearable silence than bare himself that greatly to an unfair man forcing him to play on uneven ground, but his pride began to swell ahead of him.

The chance had been places there, open for him. Ready to be taken and used, and who was he to deny the opportunity so kindly handed to him? His throat relaxes and he snaked in a careful steadying breath.

He ducked his covered head and replied as clearly as he could, "Straight through my marrow, sir." His chest hurt from saying it, as if some great weight had been liberated through it. But where ease of breath had been expected, where his arrogant mind had been sure to receive some sort of retribution, a chuckle, a tilt of the head, even a blunt action, there came only suffocating void.

His bravery, his excitement, and his pride were replaced with emptiness, for Amon's reaction followed nothing he had prepared himself for. He sighed through his nose, the noise caught in a quiet hiss against his mask, and his shoulders barely-just barely-sagged. While just a few moments ago the lieutenant had been all but cocky about his knowledge of his superior's body language, he now damned it like the worst curse a man could have.

Amon did not like the answer. He had wanted another, and the lieutenant had made a mad fool of himself for baring himself. The silence was even worse than before. It parted them more distant than here to Ba Sing Se, and stood denser than that city's historical wall had ever. He considered leaving, respectfully bowing out for his own sake. However, as it had always been, Amon's voice cut in where no other voice would have-or should have. And, also like the man, it was enigmatic, and only marginally better to listen to than the silence that had prefaced it.

"Then, lieutenant, tomorrow should pass just fine."

-x

His ice grey eyes shot open to the bellow of the morning alarm. Though his heart had awoken with painful seizes, he did not jump or start. These kinds of dreams were the only ones he had anymore, so, unsettling as they were, he had grown used to the near-nightmares.

He sat up slowly, but finally did jump as a dark figure dropped down from the bunk above. His heart having launched itself halfway up his windpipe, it actually took Liu a strained, disjointed moment to recognize what the movement had been. He had, honestly, managed to nearly forget Anisok altogether over the night, which was actually a bit of a shock, as he'd fallen asleep trying his damnedest to decide his opinion on the man.

Liu slid off the bed and stood to flip the light on. Though tired, he made an effort to keep his eyes off his new living mate. What had he settled on? He'd spent a good portion of the night that he ought to have spent sleeping attempting to come to any certain conclusion, yet he did not have one to offer.

What Liu could, at least, be certain of was that he did not dislike Anisok. Anisok had not done anything to deserve dislike, after all, and Liu struggled to see the point in wasting energy on something as stupid as unnecessary hatred. What he could no concede to was particularly liking the man, either.

It was not Anisok's fault. Liu knew that, and he knew that was unfair. He hadn't even known him a full day, not even a full conglomerate hour, and his basis for judgment was biased on something he'd come to decide to be completely due to forces Anisok could not control. The simple problem being that he was so... Existent. So present. He'd barely spoken to Liu, which he'd taken, initially as a good sign. But silence did not suppress his being, which had been emboldened as loudly as it seemingly could, but merely made it echo. It was a mix of Liu's own uneasiness with the similarities between ghost and memory, and in a smaller part from Anisok's personality.

Yes, Anisok had been relatively antisocial in their short time together. But when he had spoken, he had been confident. Nearly cocky in how he had toned some of his words, and he appeared to have a pretty nasty habit of smiling no matter what words escaped him. There was a charisma to him, though a different one to twin memory. Amon's charisma had always had a religious draw to it. He had been a godly and omnipotent pied piper, whose enigmatic nature and faceless existence were too curious to not follow, and too addictive to not trust.

Anisok was different, but Liu could not truly place how so. He ducked around Anisok to rifle in the small alcove of a closet for a change of shirt and trousers. His lips remained pursed and silent, his mind settling on the word roguish. Anisok was a rogue. He was independent, not the figurehead leader Amon had been. That was what separated them. Liu did not allow himself to think that this, perhaps, would be a reason to like the man. That, maybe, he could not like Anisok because he was not Amon.

But Amon was something he hated more, so the thought was brushed aside easy as it came. He fit his shirt over his head and then the thick leather vest. Oh. The vest. Had Anisok been given one? His brow knit tight as he debated. He hadn't wanted to be the first to speak; in fact, he hadn't wanted to speak at all. But the vest was necessary, on the most basic safety reasons, and if Anisok went on the line without one, he would not be given one. His nostrils flared with a sigh hard enough to rustle his moustache, and he turned to address the other man.

Liu was certain that he could not have made a worse noise. Anisok had stripped down to dim coal-colored trousers and a dingy undershirt, and those scars-. He'd seen plenty of scars; it was nearly a passage right to be an Equalist, to observe some of the worst abuse victims of overpowered benders. But, these...

Though Anisok's chest and back were greatly covered by the sleeveless undershirt, and he had turned on the spot at the noise, Liu could gauge a good prospect of how extensive the scarring was. The majority of his shoulders and exposed upper back were painted deep bole with strips of raw, pinkish mauve. They were etched into his skin, and raised there, leaving hills and valleys of scars over his tan skin. They stretched down the backside of his left arm, curling their marks over his ring and little fingers-both of which he now noticed to be lacking fingernails.

It was awful. It was awful, and Liu knew it was too late to correct his face, which had contorted in sympathetic horror, and Anisok's thick eyebrows rose as Liu's eyes wandered over his less-scarred front. Burns. They were burn scars, and they were the most awful ones he had ever seen. Liu's eyes pulled from the worst visible tendril of the scarring on Anisok's front, which lay across his collarbone, and met wide grey eyes to Anisok's featureless blue.

"I'm sorry." it was barely above a whisper, and almost totally obscured by the grit of a startled, breathless throat. The apology was halved, partly a plea for forgiveness for looking, and partly from horrified sympathy that Anisok had suffered through... Whatever could have left those kinds of scars.

Anisok was not smiling, this time. His jaw was tense, his pupils small, and his fists balled. While Liu was still startled and far off his tracks, his sight for body language still remained unparalleled, even if his teachings had been taken from a man now dead. Anisok's tightened arms, his perched shoulders, and most especially his clenched jaw. Confidence had been shadowed by discomfort, by displeasure that he had been so acutely observed. Which, Liu conceded, was completely understandable.

He swallowed and Anisok did not respond. He did not like Anisok. He did not like the man, even with the pity for him that grew in his heart. But, more than that, he did not dislike the disfigured man. If he did not hate Anisok, then Anisok did not deserve for his pride to be compromised. He did not break the lock their eyes had. He stood tall and straight, and with respect as if Anisok were some veteran of a grand war.

"For staring. I'm sorry for staring." He no longer whispered, instead merely speaking low. The words eased Anisok on a level small enough to be cellular, but it was ease nonetheless.

"There's no problem in it. And no need to apologize. I've had worse reactions."

"Still."

"It's fine." Anisok was the first to break their line of sight, turning to delve a shirt from his bag. Liu took a step back, eyes wandering past Anisok and to the dusty amber glass covering the gaslight. His mind reeled over the scars, as much as he tried to stop himself. It took a hard second, one that nearly gave him a headache, but he finally released a breath, and what he could of his fixation. Anisok was not his business.

Liu busied himself in adorning his boots before reaching into the closet for his work gloves and the spare vest. He turned and held it to Anisok, who had just managed his own boots on.

"You'll need this." Liu murmured. He hesitated, and held out the gloves, as well, "And these."

The other man hesitated, marred cheek scrunching as he calculated taking the worn leather clothing. In the end, it seemed as if the hard exchange of a moment before had been too much to worry over, and he accepted the gloves and vest with a gruff, "Thank you. You won't need them?"

"I'm a line supervisor. I don't really use the gloves, anymore. And I can get another vest." He shrugged with a twitch in the corners of his lips. His eyes broke contact with Anisok once more and he finally turned on his heel towards the door, "Come on, we'll want to get there ahead of the rush."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just gonna take a note that this fic has thus far been beta'd by tumblr users tipsybutt and caitlincryingalonewithlasagna.  
> and thank you all so much for the support!


	3. iii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liu and Anisok spend a rare evening in one-another's company. As their acquaintanceship grows uncomfortably close to friendship, Liu comes to realize while his roommate is still a mystery to him, Anisok might have already figured Liu out.

He hated to admit it, but Liu was growing accustomed to the company. It had been over a week since he had first met Anisok, and while the two did not talk much outside of their shared morning walk to the factory floor, the near-fortnight had been overall pleasant. Save for that first morning, of course. However, where solitude had grown before, guilt had begun to grow in its place.

Liu still needed the loneliness, Or, well, maybe he simply deserved it. No, no, it was something he wanted... right? There, integrally was the problem. With every moment in company that passed, he grew more confused on which direction to force himself. His heavy heart wanted the solitude, but that natural habit to desire company had started to whir itself free from the cobwebs. The dilemma was awful to contemplate, and even worse to spend his waking spare time working though to little result.

Moderation seemed to work well enough for now, as much as Liu despised grey area. He spent as much time as he could alone, but allowed his time in company to be filled with as much conversation as he could push himself to participate in. After all, it was the best he could manage. As their mornings turned into work, it was unquestionably impossible to socialize on the job. His place as one of the two line supervisors for their section was unforgiving, to the point that it was difficult to even spot an emergency, much less waste time conversing. He often did not get to eat until the evenings, so that time was also heavily compromised. As it would appear, Anisok was content with the same. At least three of the nights past Liu had come back to the room to neither hide nor hair of his livingmate, though the scarred man was consistently there the next morning. Perhaps, very understandably so. After all, as well as they got along in the tired mornings, the elephanthare of their awful first morning in each-others' presence was still between them. That same massive elephanthare made the 'friend' prospect a bit more frightening every day that slipped past, so, overall, maybe the right thing to do was just what he was already doing.

After all, his weary voice was not being forced to speak any more than he had grown comfortable with, and it all felt so well to that bitter oath he had forced himself to stand by. But, yes, it was admittedly hard to compare that against the unavoidable human happiness that came from contact, from communication. As much as he doubted whether he deserved this simple necessity or not, there also stood the argument that he had absolutely no intention of putting any personal trust in the tan man. Trust, and the amount of it he had put in the memory once known as Amon, had been the one driving factor in this oath to lonesomeness. Trust was something that he did not physically believe he could ever put in another being as long as he lived. So, perhaps, by that logic, there was no guilt in communicating with a man he never planned to trust.

Thinking about it made it no less difficult, in fact, it worsened the hardening in his heart with every new thought he had. it pained his chest and hurt his head, what, with all the thoughts about this, about that, about what was right or wrong, about what he deserved, what he didn't. How he deserved it, because he'd been enough of a damned fucking fool to follow Amon's false words as if there were glorious, spiritsent sermons. He'd fought for him, hurt for him, knelt for him. If he had been asked, he would have kissed his boots! The boots of a bender, hiding like the lying coward he was behind a mask that Liu had been enough of an idiot to believe.

He stopped dead before he could take another step and slid his eyes shut against buffeting autumn winds. No, no. As angry as he was with himself, with the past, and with the vile memory, even the more masochistic parts of him could not find a sufficient reason to torture himself like this. His breaths staggered to slow down as he urged the thoughts away. They could haunt him later, in his dreams. For now, he needed to separate all of this-Anisok, Amon, his regrets, his past, and his present-from tonight's plan. He was not far from his meal, so that, not anything else, should be what he focused on. Small steps, starting with allowing his eyes back open.

He nearly jumped out of his skin. To his credit, his reflexes were too sharp, even with his months without practice, to allow him to react that badly, instead merely sending him stumbling backwards two steps with a decently loud swear. Anisok's brown, scarred face had greeted his eyes, but a foot forward from his own. It had contorted into that infuriating grin from observing Liu's sloppily hidden panic, though the grin quickly gave way to smiling speech.

"Hello to you, too." His voice was dryly amused as ever, passive to the momentary panic he had wrought.

Liu straightened to his full height and gave a particularly unamused glower down to the barely-shorter man. His voice no more impressed with the stunt, he questioned, "What are you doing here?"

Anisok's brow rose with a dull gleam of entertainment, "Seems you say that a lot to me, doesn't it?" His words were careful as always, but there was a certain taunt in them, something meant not to infuriate him, but otherwise press him, push him to speak. As if he knew that Liu both wanted to and didn't, and was making the decision for him. Subtle manipulation, rather than grandiose speeches of smoke and mirrors and diversion away from Anisok, himself. Liu tripped over the gross difference between memory and ghost for half a second, finding himself unnaturally startled by the realization. He opened his mouth to recover from the unsettling break in focus, but Anisok cut his words before they could form, "I assumed you to have a better grasp on where I can get food. Everything I've eaten since coming here has been awful, and I'd like to keep myself from as much socializing as I can manage."

His smile remained when he'd finished speaking. There was genuine humanity in it, and in his voice, yet the dry break between his speech and his very, very much invisible emotion was impossible to not notice. Amon's voice had carried great emotion, but it had always reigned itself even in pitch, clarity, and tone. He bore his passions fully for the crowds, but he was an impersonal being, so much less human than the ideas he preached. The differences were beginning to upset Liu more than the similarities had, and he was starting to wonder if he could ever win the battle to be able to face this stranger without associations and comparrisons being his only impressions of him.

He kept his face steady, and his throat the same.  
Later.   
He'd ponder it later, when Anisok was not there, where he could think without the featureless eyes upon him, "So your plan was to follow me? You couldn't have asked?" He'd treat him neutrally. He'd do his best to start the impression anew, so he tred with careful, mild respect. As he would with any stranger.

The corners of Anisok's mouth kicked further upwards, his response was immediate. He'd planned this, "You do owe it to me."

Liu's brow creased as he was jolted, once more, by Anisok's less-than-mild mannerisms. Well, there was something for a pretend first impression, at least. It was a manipulative, low move. But he couldn't argue it. He had compromised Anisok's privacy, and, thusly, his pride. Anisok had not mentioned it since, but Liu realized, now, that he had saved the event, and the fact that they were both aware that Liu owed Anisok for it, to use against him not when it would would be the most use to him, but when it would most startle the once-lieutenant.

His lips pursed, his eyes narrowed, and, eventually, he released a heavy exhale in defeat, "Very well. I eat just ahead of here, if you'll follow..." He stepped around his roomate with a sturdy nod up the block, "We'll want to hurry, though. The wind's bound to bring a storm, eventually."

And so they continued forward, a tunelessly humming Anisok trailing behind him up the block bustling with other soot-stained, rumple-dressed persons trying to finish their errands before the inevitable clouds could cover the entire sky. Days as a militant had trained Liu not to glance back at the subordinated he led, (as that could leave him blind on more sides than just one) but rather to rely on his ears to cover his back while the rest of his senses kept care of every other direction. As their journey passed every minute by minute, foot by foot, the noise grew subtly quieter and quieter, until it vanished altogether just doorways from the restaurant's foggy, dusty glass front. He nearly glanced back to address why before recollections reminded him-yes. The limp. While the stagger in Anisok's step was not cripplingly awful, it did make him a slower traveler than Liu.

Liu slowed his steps, eventually coming to a halt in front of the glass-and-wood doorway. He did not look for Anisok, but stood silent and respectful until the humming came back into range, and, eventually, to his side. They stood for just a moment longer before Liu moved forward, Anisok again in tow.

The restaurant's front was small, humid, and reeked of cooking oil and spices, with the mingled-in scents of any aging building made of poor materials. A counter cut the room wall-to-wall barely left any room for customers, just enough to fit in half a dozen mismatched chairs meant solely for waiting on orders to be ready. The kitchen buzzed and clanked and steamed from behind the counter, where several grey-dressed workers ducked around to check on fryers and ovens and stovetops. One broke from the busy throng to approach the counter and take Liu and Anisok's orders, referring to Liu by name and suspiciouslly regarding Anisok until Liu introduced him as a coworker. Payment given, the taller man led the other to two of the nearest chairs, where Anisok immediately broke the ice once more.

"So you have to eat out, then? There's no mess hall at all? No kitchen."

Liu nodded, eyes focused on the yellowing wall ahead of him, "If you can fit the utensils to cook into your room, you have a kitchen. But, as you know by now, there really isn't much room for that."

Anisok nodded and leaned back, stretching the leg with the limp out, while tucking the other under his chair. His arms crossed over his chest, his head tilted back, but his back remained pin-straight against the back of the chair, leaving him in an awkward midway between casual and presentable. As with everything else about him, Liu grew momentarily distracted in the shorter man's mannerisms. It threw him off again, forcing a startled blink out of him at Anisok's next question, "So. Where were you born?"

"Pardon?" He questioned in return, turning his black-haired head to watch Anisok's profile. Other than the tendrils that curled over the bridge of his nose, this side of Anisok was relatively unmarked. It gave the false impression that Anisok was not conniving, not dangerous, and that his question hadn't been invasive in the least.

"Where were you born? You've got the build of someone from Fire Nation territory, but you're paler than someone from the inner Earth Kingdom. However, your eyes contradict both. They're reminiscent of someone from one of the Water Tribes. I'm just," He shrugged in a slow, careful movement, "curious as to where such a combination would lead from."

No, no. As innocent as Anisok was acting, Liu was all too aware that this was not to pass time, but to learn. While he did not mind forfeiting the information, he was hesitant to comply to answering to such manipulative phrasing. He frowned deep, deciding to press forward, "I was born in Republic City. My parents were Earth Kingdom immigrants, looking for a better life."

"Mm, I see. You don't look it; you're thinner than average. And taller." He glanced Liu's direction, meeting his eyes with a dark little grin.

"I've been told. And yourself?" Not that he necessarily needed to ask. While skin that tan was an ethnic clue to several regions, Anisok's nasal shape and his even blue eyes were aboundingly stereotypical. It was thusly no surprise to hear his sigh of a response,

"Southern Water Tribe. I came here for the same reason that your parents did, I suppose." He looked away again with a distant nod at the fading wallpaper across from him. Liu nodded, even if it was something he didn't honestly feel confident talking about. He'd known his parents for an overall brief amount of time before he'd been passed off on neighbors. But, again, that was information that neither mattered nor was worth any sort of further pondering or talking.

The next silence lasted only a few seconds before Anisok inquired, yet again, "How long have you been in this particular factory?"

He just wouldn't shut up, would he? It was actually getting to be pretty amusing, Liu had to admit. He shifted and tried to come up with an exact number, which he failed to do. Instead, he gave a the same vague guess of, "Around a year."

"And you're already line supervisor. Well, well."

"I share the position," Liu sighed with a shake of his head, "As you know."

"Share isn't the word I'd use. But whatever suits." He quirked his brow to match his impolite, goading smile. Liu's pale eyes narrowed suspiciously, not at all liking that rude, impersonal fashion Anisok had delivered the reply with. He decided to keep his lips shut until his roomate spoke again, which both came shortly and confirmed his instinct to be offput by the tone. It was harsh, invasive, and manipulative in that it was said strictly to evoke a reaction out of the taller man, "Considering you supervise until he talks louder than you. At which point you do a lot of walking and standing."

It set his heart on fire with agitated pride that he had not felt in the near-year since the endgame. His fingers balled to his palms and into white-knuckled fists. His jaw tensed, his nostrils flared, and it was only with great self control that he managed out, "Pardon me, I don't think I follow."

His cracked, scarred lips were grinning with silent, emotionless amusement, and Anisok's figurative fingers tightened on the marionette's cross-bar that Liu's last puppeteer had left behind.

"You're just such a strong-minded man. You're incredibly stubborn and hardworking, yet you tuck your tail between your legs when it comes to Supervisor Han, don't you think? But you never seem too happy to do comply to him. You hate him, that's obvious, and you're an exponentially better supervisor than he, yet you're afrai--"

"I am not afraid of him." Liu was the one to cut Anisok off, a wrench in the mechanisms of how this had gone about every other time. Liu would have stood. He would have flared around, hell, he might have attacked Anisok. If it had been months ago, he would have. And, even now, if they were anywhere but here, Anisok would be against the wall.

He did not realize, yet, that Anisok's pull of the marionette strings had worked just as he had meant it to. That passion had been his goal, but he played into the scarred hands like any puppet would. It was the final twitch of his fingers that sent Liu into furious reply, the goading inquisition of, "Then why do you lay down like some dog for him?

Consideration for his words, and how dangerous they were, came only after he began to speak. His tone was venomous, dripping with the raw hatred to a tender vein of thought that had been forcefully broken, "Because that filthy excuse for a man is not worth losing my livelihood over. I will say it once, Anisok, and only once, that if the chance were given to me, I would take it and any advantage luck would give me to destroy Han Nyugen."

Anisok was silent, but his smile had faded from phantom's sadistic to observer's interest. For once, he did not interrupt, opting to hear all Liu had to say on it. Recklessly, Liu followed through, "He is a despicable classist who uses his pitiful natural 'talents' to push himself up beyond those of us who lack the same kinds of talents. He's a coward, he's a liar, he's the kind of person that I don't only think should be punished, but completely eradicated. He's no better than the spider-rats that infest the factory, and there will come the day that I will face him. But, for the time being, I am being paid too well to be that stupid."

He was shaking. His hands were, at least, but he was beginning to realize that it was not due to saying something so dangerous. But it was, instead, because his heart was pumping with something other than mournful, regretful solitude. Anisok's eyes were on him, tracing over his every facial feature from furrowed brow to long mustache. He finally replied, voice even, simple, even bored, "So he is a bender?"

Liu nodded with a vague panic hidden away in the farthest parts of his mind. It had been a reckless statement, and this was the resulting mess it had left. Things had both improved and worsened in Republic City since the end of the mainstream Equalist movement. The middle class had experienced greater relief in the gap between bender and non-bender, but the lower, working class had thusly worsened. To speak up against a bender in this class had become dangerous, often dangerous enough to end up in the hands of the metalbending police. Anisok was, even worse, a relative newcomer to the city, as far as Liu knew. It was more than likely that he did not understand how awful the differences between the two sides in this class had become. If Anisok took him as a stereotype, the consequences...

"The only one on our line section." He kept his voice devoid of his growing worry, though his speeding pulse made it difficult.

"That... Explains quite a bit." The roomate mused, eyes still locked on Liu. He did not sound concerned, which helped slow Liu's pulse. That wasn't a comment he could find threat in.

"Mm?" His colorless eyes flicked over Anisok's features in search for any and every clue he could find. His heart slowed to its normal pace as he realized that maybe, possibly, Anisok not only had no intention of using the statement against him, but that, just possibly, he had a similar set of views.

The passion for equality had not been stamped out by Amon. Unlike Amon, equality was an idea. It did not lie to you; merely stayed constant and true as a force of fact. Equality had not betrayed him. Merely its false prophet. He had abandoned his drive to fight for it from the disillusion of the same prophet, yes, and he had very certainly abandoned the ranks of that prophet's empire without turning back to watch it crumble. That said, there was a certain excitement in finding someone, anyone, who might still believe in it. Even if, like him, they did not act.

It was funny, this whiplash of thought and emotion. He hadn't felt it in a while, and never as positive as this. He hung on with hidden excitement to Anisok's response.

"I've traveled plenty far to get here. I've met many, many people from many places. It's safe to say that I've experienced more grief from benders than from those who are not." He nodded at Liu and pulled his left brow upwards to stretch the gnarled scars across that side of his face, "A bender did this to me, actually."

Liu felt nauseous from the pull-and-tug of anger to worry to relief. The nausea was increasing either the further realization that Anisok had orchestrated the entire admission for his own personal confirmation of Liu's thoughts. This hadn't been about the factory or Han, it had been about knowing Liu's stance. It was awful and manipulative, and he tried his best to not draw the parallel. He would sit in silence, he decided, sit in silence and pretend it was pensiveness from Anisok's scars.

Thankfully, he did not have to push himself to pick up the old acting habit. The bell on the desk was smacked thrice with a call of 'Order ready!', prompting the both of them to stand wordlessly to retrieve the two bags. Liu led them to the door with a distracted mind that only focused at the awful sound that greeted them upon opening the door.

"Goddammit."

"You didn't notice?" Anisok actually gave a chuckle and limped past Liu down the three steps from the shop to the sidewalk and into the heavy rain, "Maybe you shouldn't get so caught up in thinking. It's been raining since we sat down."

Liu could barely hear him over the roaring downpour. It was his usual pattern to jog through the rain, and he almost started down the street as if it were any other time. He should, he knew it. Any way else and he'd be soaked, his food would be ruined, and he would grant more time to a man that he still did not like that much.

But Anisok was walking. Limping. And already dripping. He was mysterious and blunt, he was not the kind of person that Liu wanted anything to do with these days. But he was an ally. He had manipulated him into making a fool of himself, but he had also manipulated his head back into thinking about the world around him. He was a disfigured, wounded man who he did not understand, but Liu was certain, for whatever reason, that the ghost named Anisok did not have ill will towards him.

He tucked his bag under his coat and jogged only to catch up to Anisok, where he immediately started a mindless conversation on where they could eat next time, should they ever chose to share the evening company again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an: betaed by tumblr user roughkiss this time! thanks for your continued reading, guys!


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